


head above water

by ConvenientAlias



Category: Gattaca (1997)
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Pre-Canon, Yuletide Treat, anecdotes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-17 22:30:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13086741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConvenientAlias/pseuds/ConvenientAlias
Summary: “Do you know,” Jerome’s mother asks his coach, “how Jerome first started swimming? Did he ever tell you that story?”





	head above water

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Reishiin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reishiin/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Голова над водой](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17530460) by [Vinsachi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vinsachi/pseuds/Vinsachi)



Jerome is fourteen and his parents worship his swimming coach. They already know Jerome will be going to the Olympics someday (have known it for a long time, really) and Jerome’s coach is the one person who is more excited about that than they are. That includes Jerome.

“Do you know,” Jerome’s mother asks his coach, “how Jerome first started swimming? Did he ever tell you that story?”

It’s early evening. To celebrate Jerome’s most recent medal (“It’s just a high-school competition, Mom, it doesn’t actually mean anything”), Jerome’s coach has been invited to dinner. It’s not the first time this has happened.

“No, I don’t think he ever did,” the coach says with a big smile. He’s with the school, really, not Jerome’s personal trainer (Jerome’s parents agree that would be too much pressure at this age, they’ll wait another few years). But Jerome’s parents have donated money to the school in the past, and more money means more funds for athletics, so he always acts abnormally cheerful around them. Around Jerome and the rest of the swim team he is far more businesslike.

Jerome’s mother laughs. His father elbows her—he’s heard the story many times by now and he likes it but not as much as she does, and he thinks she should preserve her dignity around the coach, whom he views as a serious man. Jerome thinks they both make the coach equally uncomfortable in their own different ways: Mom with her too-cheerful conversation that demands too much camaraderie from a quiet man who doesn’t know her, Dad with his intense stares and his expensive suits and the way he censures both Jerome and Mom no matter what they try to say in his presence. The coach has always been comfortable with Jerome, though. Jerome is easy to get along with. He makes a lot of smart comments but at the end of the day he does whatever the coach says, even buys into all his cheesy motivational speeches.

He maybe worships the coach too but that’s different.

Jerome’s mother says, “Well, we used to think he would become a runner.”

The coach says, “Oh? You liked running, Jerome?” He raises his eyebrows, amused at the thought. Jerome runs sometimes for cross training, but he isn’t fond of it.

 Dad snorts. He knows Jerome has never liked running since he was four years old. Besides, “Oh, nothing like that. He was barely a year old then,” Jerome’s mother says, shaking her head. “Was he a year old? Darling, do you remember?”

Dad shrugs. “He couldn’t run, but he learned how to walk pretty fast. We thought he might be a runner because we ordered a baby with good, athletic genetics, you know. Endurance, strength, cardio. Very little chance of any heart disease or lung problems. My father was a runner.”

The coach nods, a little embarrassed. It’s not that he’s not valid; someone played with his genes a little before he was born or he would never have gotten a job at such a prestigious high-school. But he’s just old fashioned enough to remember back when they were debating if genetic modification was cause for disqualification at the Olympics (conclusion: it’s not) and to assume that any modifications should be for health reasons and not go any further than the basics. But of course an assumption like that is out of place talking to Jerome’s father, a business man of great success and old money both, deliberate in every choice he makes. Of course he would want the best, and more than the best, for his son. And it’s not like Jerome didn’t come out the way he planned. He’s his father’s vision to a T.

“Well, we thought he might be a runner,” Mom repeats. “But we weren’t sure, you know. It’s hard to be sure at that age. Of course, we took him to doctors to ask about his aptitude.”

“At the age of a year it’s a little hard to tell,” the coach jokes.

Mom nods seriously. “Anyway, we were on vacation at the nicest hotel. It was in Spain—we were travelling—and we’d been at the beach most of the day but there was an indoor pool and I wound up chatting to this woman. Such an elegant woman. I always intended to get in touch with her afterwards but I guess I never got around to it. But I was talking to this woman and I let Jerome crawl around—makes me look a little irresponsible, I’m afraid…”

Dad snorts again. He always does when Mom is self-deprecating. It’s hard to tell whether he thinks she’s funny or thinks she’s right. He does the same thing to Jerome and Jerome always assumes it’s both. But thinking Jerome is funny is at least better than thinking he’s dull.

“…and Jerome fell into the pool. I didn’t even notice.” She thinks this part is hilarious, and can’t stop herself from giggling. “He was so small, and there was a Jacuzzi running too so it wasn’t exactly quiet. But I glance over at the pool and I see this little red ball and then I squint and I realize it’s a baby, my baby, and he’s swimming. He had his head up and everything, and you know how hard it is to teach kids to swim and breathe.”

The coach nods. He has never coached little children but he knows.

“Well, I was so surprised I almost forgot to fish him out. He was way over his head, and I wasn’t even wearing a swimsuit, I’d just come in for the company. The woman jumped in and got him, which was very nice of her, and handed him back. He didn’t cry.” She smiles reminiscently. “He was always a good baby, after the first couple months. Never cried about anything.”

“If you ignore babies when they cry they learn to stop crying,” Jerome’s father cuts in. “I don’t know if you have kids…”

“No. Unmarried.”

“…Well, when you have them.” Jerome’s father claps the coach on the shoulder. “You need a firm hand. But Jerome’s always been able to fend for himself. When I heard he’d learned how to swim I was hardly surprised. Only a little disappointed to give up on the running…but he liked swimming then and he still loves it now.”

The coach laughs. “He certainly does. Hard getting him to come out.”

The conversation drifts one way and another. Jerome tunes it all out. Later, his coach will tell a mangled version of this story to another parent, bragging about the talent he has on his team. Talent—that is what the story means to Jerome’s parents. As for Jerome, he’s never been fond of this story, but he’d have a hard time explaining why. Perhaps it’s just that he doesn’t like how his mother tells it. He likes to picture it from his own point of view: a little baby fascinated by the moving light on the water’s surface, crawling closer and closer to the edge. He falls—he expects that nothing and no one will catch him. But the water buoys him up and he finds he can kick his legs and flap his arms after all, and he doesn’t sink. He swims, he lives.

It would be a good story if anyone ever told it that way.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a treat because we all need more Gattaca fics :) and I liked your prompt of writing about Jerome's childhood (and a little of his adolescence mixed in here). I don't think he was the happiest kid, but he was trying.  
> I hope you liked it!


End file.
